


Who is Fred Rogers

by Mojanbo



Category: Mister Rogers' Neighborhood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mojanbo/pseuds/Mojanbo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of its creator, the Land of Make-Believe grieves and takes misguided revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who is Fred Rogers

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually around half a year old. I can't believe it's been that long since I wrote it... Guess that shows how much I've improved.

With the death of one Fred Rogers the entire Neighborhood of Make-Believe had been shaken to its very imaginary foundation. The leaves seemed to no longer dance in the wind, and the cold air nipped at the ears of all the residents of the Neighborhood. Since Mr. Rogers died, all contact with the surrounding towns of Westwood, Southwood, and Someplace Else were lost as if the cities had crumbled to dust with their creator. But Make-Believe remained, stoic as ever, trees rising high above the horizon.

Lady Elaine Fairchild stood at the back of the museum lobby, behind a podium. Red marble pillars flanked the lobby walls, the light bouncing off of them casting her long nose in a rosy glow. Joining her inside the museum were all the Neighborhood of Make-Believe residents, notably Daniel Striped Tiger, Cornflake S. Pecially, and X the Owl. All of the Neighborhood was there, with the exception of the royal family and Henrietta Pussycat.

The cold atmosphere of the museum was accentuated by Lady Elaine’s gaze, which was not one of compassion or empathy. Her eyes, stone-cold and staring, swept over the crowd.

"Neighbors," Lady Elaine began, "Yesterday, something awful, something horrible happened, and none of us even saw it coming."

Many of the Neighborhood's animals hung their heads in shame. Daniel began sobbing, but X put a wing on his shoulder to comfort him.

"Yesterday, we heard from Mr. Platypus that Mr. Rogers was dead and someone from Make-Believe killed him! With Mr. Rogers dead, all our connections to anything outside of Make-Believe disappeared. In fact, I have discovered today that Trolley is absent from his tracks," Lady Elaine said, slamming her fist on the marble podium.

A unified gasp went through the crowd, foll owed by syncopated mutters from many of the residents. Cornflake looked both ways, stood up and raised his hand. Lady Elaine gestured for him to speak.

"Ehm, Lady Elaine... why do you think Trolley is gone? And who might've taken him?" As Cornflake went silent the attendants of the meeting started calling out to Elaine.

"Why don't you have an answer?"

"Who would take Trolley?"

"I can't say for sure," Lady Elaine said, adjusting the bun in her hair, "but I have a hunch. I've heard rumors that King Friday uses Trolley to leave Make-Believe and sometimes went to visit Mr. Rogers. King Friday must be the one who killed Mr. Rogers, as he's the only one who can reach him, and he took Trolley so we'll never know if the rumor is true!"

Murmurs echoed through the museum lobby. The antiquated lights above flickered and the voices got louder before eventually escalating into panicked cries.

"Why would he do this to us?”

"We have to catch the King!"

Lady Elaine adjusted her microphone, sending a squealing noise through the lobby that quieted everyone. "And we will catch him. Tomorrow morning, gather up all your neighbors and meet me at the Eiffel Tower. We'll rush the castle, and King Friday and Queen Saturday will never know what hit them"

"What 'bout Prince Tuesday, Elaine?", X said. "We just gonna let 'im die?”

“And what about Henrietta?”, Cornflake said. “She’s been shut in the schoolhouse ever since she found out.”

As the meeting had almost concluded, the lights from the museum ceiling died down. The red glow from the marble columns faded as the room's decor faded into blackness. Lady Elaine brought her craggly face close to the microphone and spoke.

"Someone must tell Tuesday the wolves are coming. We strike tomorrow, with or without Henrietta's help or Tuesday's consent."

 

*****

Henrietta Pussycat's schoolhouse had been engulfed in the darkness of the cloudless sky by the time Lady Elaine arrived.

Maybe she’s lost it, Elaine thought. She could have gone insane. She was the closest to Mr. Rogers, after all.

She knocked several times on the door and, when no one responded, let herself in. Elaine took a flashlight from a pocket on her dress and turned it on.

The schoolhouse floorboards were clawed into, like a monster four times Henrietta's size had gotten in and made a wreck of the place. The desks were carelessly toppled over on the floor. Three out of nine mouse students lay dead, crimson gashes torn into their chests. The rest were missing.

"Henrietta? Are you okay?" Lady Elaine turned the flashlight to another corner of the room. The wallpaper there was torn into ribbons. One floorboard had been pulled from the foundation and smashed into the wall.

Lady Elaine turned the light beam to the final corner of the room and spotted Henrietta, button eyes hanging from her stitched sockets by a single thread. Her little kitten mouth was covered in red-stained mouse fur.

"Hen, toots... what happened to you?"

Henrietta dipped her paw into a pool of fresh blood on the floor. She turned away from Lady Elaine and began to write something on the wall with her bloody paw.

With shaking hands, Elaine grabbed the flashlight and braced her knees in case running was necessary. Slowly she turned the flashlight up toward the ceiling.

"Meow". The wall was covered edge to edge in the word "Meow", written in either Henrietta's blood or that of her mouse students.

Elaine’s fears had come true. Henrietta really had gone insane.

Henrietta got up from her kneeling position on the floor and turned to face Elaine. Lady Elaine prepared to run, but saw Henrietta was simply moving out of the way to reveal what she had written.

Above the body of a half-eaten mouse, Henrietta had written the words "WHO IS FRED ROGERS?"

 

*****

 

The Eiffel Tower rose up, towering and magnificent, behind them. The mob talked among themselves as Lady Elaine surveyed her surroundings.

 

The air was still and bitterly dry. The sky was a cloudless robin's egg blue, and the castle lay against the horizon, its ivory towers glistening.  
Lady Elaine had collected old pitchforks from Northwood that morning. She passed them out among the participants in the raid. A few torches were given out as well, for effect. Elaine herself was equipped with her traditional Boomerang-Toomerang-Zoomerang, outfitted with retractable blades.

"Friends, neighbors... today is the day we get revenge for the death of Fred Rogers! Today is the day when we end the reign of King Friday! Today is the day we take the neighborhood back!"

 

The mob cheered and rushed toward the castle, Lady Elaine not far behind. But even as she was running, Henrietta's message repeated itself through Elaine's head.

 

Who is Fred Rogers? Is he a scapegoat we've created to blame for our mistakes? A false god to explain why we exist? Does Fred Rogers exist, at all?

 

As the castle approached in the distance, Elaine slowed her run to a walk. She stared up at the castle walls and the train tracks where Trolley used to be, and wondered.

 

Are we even real?

 

*****

"I told you, I don't know anything about Mr. Rogers!"

"Try again, toots." Elaine threw the exhausted castle servant to the side, and he collapsed.

The castle halls were decorated in ivory and silver, a testament to King Friday's frivolity. Lady Elaine paced back and forth on the plush carpet in the throne room in front of the gold-gilded throne.

"Is that all of them?", Elaine said.

"Queen Saturday has been takin' care of," X the Owl said, saluting Lady Elaine.

"I warned Prince Tuesday yesterday, and he's not in here now," Daniel whispered.

"Good. We only have to find the King" Elaine began walking across the carpet toward the last castle room they hadn't checked - the dungeon.

"Ya sure he's down there and it's not a trap?", X said, flying up beside Elaine.

"It's just a chance we'll have to take."

*****

The dungeon walls were covered in the kind of mold that grows in dank places. The air was humid, so humid that walking felt like pushing through a solid object. Chains rattled on their own. Doors creaked with no wind to blow them around. King Friday the 13th huddled in a corner, shivering.

"King Friday, tell us everything." Lady Elaine approached him from behind and put the bladed edge of the three-sided Boomerang-Toomerang-Zoomerang to his throat. "Tell us why you killed Fred Rogers"

King Friday sobbed. "You've already taken everything from me... but what choice do I have?"

"None. You have no choice." Elaine brought the blade closer.

King Friday turned his head carefully toward Lady Elaine. He winced as the blade left a bloody gash on his throat.

"I didn't kill Fred Rogers, but you're about to," he said.

Lady Elaine froze. She brought the boomerang back up to her side and retracted the blades. "You're Mr. Rogers?"

"I am not Mr. Rogers. He's dead, but I didn't kill him. He died of natural causes two days ago." The somber expression on the king's face, his wrinkled forehead and furrowed eyebrows had almost seemed to convince Lady Elaine of his innocence for a second.

She quickly regained composure, however. "Are you trying to fool me? Didn't you just say you were Mr. Rogers?" Elaine snapped the blades back into position and held the tip under King Friday's throat.

Plink. Plink. Plink. Tears followed the wrinkles in King Friday's weathered face, hitting the dungeon floor with a quiet but audible sound. Plink.

"Mr. Rogers may be dead, but if you slit my throat now, you won't just be killing me, you'll be killing the Neighborhood of Make-Believe. You'll be slaying the legacy of Mr. Rogers, everything he worked toward in his lifetime. You'll be destroying the power of imagination." King Friday looked up at Elaine with wide eyes. "Please, Elaine. Please let Mr. Rogers live"

Elaine retracted the blades and dropped the Boomerang, which fell to the ground with a clank. She slowly turned to face the others. Her eyes were wet with uncried tears, but she was smiling, wider than anyone had ever seen Lady Elaine Fairchild smile before.

She raised her arms in the air. "The King will live!"

Cheers emanated from the formerly angry mob.

*****

Henrietta sat slumped in the corner of her schoolhouse. The blood had been cleaned off the walls and the floorboards and wallpaper repaired and replaced.

Henrietta let out a low sigh. Ever since Mr. Rogers had died, there was no joy in Make-Believe. Not for her, at least. Mr. Rogers had taught her to speak human language. He was the only neighbor she ever needed in Make-Believe, and he had left. Though she had recovered from her temporary insanity, nothing would be the same without Mr. Rogers.

She stared up at the window above her. Several birds flew by, squawking in a cacophony of ravens and crows and mockingbirds. The sounds quieted, though, as a familiar tune echoed off the walls of the schoolhouse.

It's such a good feeling  
To know you're alive.  
It's such a happy feeling:  
You're growing inside.

Henrietta's ears perked up. Where was the music coming from? She stood up, legs shaking, and slowly began to take steps toward the door.

And when you wake up ready to say,  
"I think I'll make a snappy new day."

The music was from inside her head, it must be, she thought. The music was from her imagination.

As she walked to the door, the music growing in volume as she tiptoed, then ran, then danced to the exit. Henrietta Pussycat opened the door for the first time in an entire week, and she yelled out in delight.

"I'm back, meow meow!"

It's such a good feeling,  
A very good feeling,  
The feeling you know  
You're alive.

Fred Rogers never truly left Make-Believe. He was a deity, a god created by the residents to justify their strange and wonderful existence. Gods never die, they merely slumber, presiding over their domain through their loyal followers who keep their memory alive.  
Mr. Rogers isn't dead, and Make-Believe is real. They live on in the very fiber of those who truly choose to imagine, to create, to make believe.

 

"I'll see you soon, neighbor"


End file.
